


You Can't Hurry Love

by cloglover



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Phil Collins - Freeform, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Smoking, Tarzan Soundtrack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloglover/pseuds/cloglover
Summary: Keith took a moment to sip his coffee and grimaced. He never took it black, but for some reason he felt trapped at the counter with Lance. Like if he stepped away to add milk and sugar he’d miss something.--Keith moves to the east coast, gets a job at a restaurant, starts attending group therapy, and buys coffee from the most annoying person he's ever met in his life. He learns valuable life lessons about taking up space, finding family, and accepting love into his life.





	1. Strangers Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter ready to go! Minor warning for those who struggle with nicotine/cigarette addiction, Keith smokes in this fic.  
> I hope you enjoy this first installment! I haven't written fic in quite some time so I'm a little rusty.

Keith resolved that he’d never get used to autumn on the east coast. The bus grumbled and rolled out of the station, surrendering its former passengers to the nippy November air. Keith shivered, dragging himself and his suitcase into the transportation center where he would wait for Shiro to pick him up. Even at this early hour, the sun barely peeking above the horizon, the city was already buzzing with disgruntled businessmen and robotic morning shift workers. The heavy grinding and clanging of construction flooded his eardrums, he could feel the drill hammering at the asphalt in his chest. He hated crowds, they made him feel like a trapped wild animal. Keith buried his nose further into the scarf he was wearing, shoulders rising to his ears in an attempt to shut out the chaos of center city Philadelphia. Why he had allowed Shiro to convince him to leave the desert was beyond him. 

Ding

_-I’m outside, meet me on the corner of 29th?-_

Keith tapped out a quick “O.K.” and made his way towards Shiro’s car, a beat up black Subaru Outback. Shiro leaned out the window and grinned, raising one arm in a sort of half wave-half salute. After unloading his luggage in the trunk, he clambered into the passenger side. 

“How was the flight?” Shiro pulled out and onto the road, stretching an arm to rest it on the back of Keith’s seat. 

“Fine. The bus from the airport smelled like feet though.” 

“Ah, sorry I couldn’t pick you up, I had to help Allura set up for the brunch shift.”

“It’s fine. I could’ve gotten an Uber to your place you know.” 

“You don’t have keys yet, were you gonna break in through the fire escape?” Shiro paused, “Wait- honestly don’t answer that.” 

Keith crossed his arms and turned to face the window in an attempt to hide the laughter threatening to shake out of him. The drive wasn’t long, but it could have been shorter if Shiro hadn’t insisted on taking the backroads as part of the grand tour. He had commentary for every street it seemed like. _-"Oh! That’s my favorite ramen place." - “That’s a good bar.” - “I have a friend who teaches kickboxing there”-_ When they finally arrived at Shiro’s apartment, Keith had already had enough of this city. He hopped out of the car, fresh cool air filling his lungs. Refreshing as a wintergreen breath mint.

Shiro unlocked the door and carried Keith’s suitcase in for him, ever the gentleman, and lead him to the room he’d be staying in. It was a short, narrow hallway and the floorboards cried out with every step. 

“Okay, so it’s technically an office, and I know it’s not a lot of space but-”

“It’s perfect. I don’t have a lot of stuff.” The room was practically a shoebox, but it really was more than he could ever ask for. A twin size bed had already been put together, along with a small dresser. There was no closet, but he really didn’t have a lot of clothes either. All he had brought with him from home was a few books, his clunky old laptop, about 2 weeks worth of clothing, and his fossil collection. “Really Shiro… you didn’t have to do all this. I could have found a place.” 

“Keith. You’re my brother.” Keith opened his mouth to interrupt and was met by Shiro’s open prosthetic hand. “Maybe not by blood, but you’re still family.” Shiro softened, smiling just as widely as he had when he had first seen Keith and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m gonna go grab some bagels, you unpack… I’m glad you’re here, kiddo.” 

Keith was glad too. 

By noon he had settled in quite nicely. Shiro’s apartment allowed a great deal of light in, which prompted him consider getting himself a cactus or something. He had never understood the concept of nesting, but what he felt right now was probably close enough. Truthfully, this was Keith’s first time moving somewhere with a plan to stay there for more than a couple months, which was just as relieving as it was anxiety inducing. It reminded him of something a past counselor had said about two contradicting forces existing simultaneously… or something like that.

Shiro had taken advantage of the free afternoon to show Keith around, introducing him to the subway system, and of course bringing him by the restaurant to familiarize him with the layout. He’d be starting there on Friday as a food runner, a position perfectly suited for him. It required speed and minimal conversation with actual patrons. A dream job. 

The restaurant was seemingly hidden to the outside world, a literal hole in the wall, aside from the elaborately drawn sandwich board outside indicating that they were, in fact, a dining establishment. The interior was however, drastically different than the outside would have made you expect. The floors were a black marble tile, and the walls were white with beautiful relief carvings of leaves. There were two large pillars that joined at the top into an archway, at the crest was a brilliant chandelier that from afar, resembled a lion’s mane. 

Keith couldn’t quite believe that just outside he had seen a halal takeout container next to a broken beer bottle be flocked by ravenous birds. It was like being in completely different worlds. How had Shiro even found this place? Was it constructed by some sort of magic? As if on cue, a practically mystical young woman greeted them.

She was a vision of an ideal server. Her long silver hair plaited and tucked neatly into a crown on her head, a pen behind each ear. Her uniform, a crisp white button down, black dress pants, and a black apron, were all pristine and pressed. Even her _work clogs_ were scuff free. Maybe this place was magic. 

“This must be Keith! It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Allura.” Allura took his hands into her own. “Really, welcome to the family. We’ve been shorthanded for… quite some time.” She eyed Shiro pointedly, who shrugged. 

“What can I say, we’re picky about who we hire.” 

Allura hummed, releasing Keith from her stronghold. “Well, now that you’re here I may as well show you around. Not everyone is here, it’s brunch so we really only need one server and a host.” She lead him into the server station, which was as orderly as he expected it’d be. Reclined against the counter was a sandy haired young man who looked to be a couple years his senior. 

“This is Matt, our host. He’s been with us for a couple years now. Which means he knows better than to be hiding in the server station when there is plenty of polishing to be done in the hallway!” 

“Hey, man. You must be Shiro’s little bro!” Matt waved off Allura’s comment and clapped him on the back. He’d received more physical affection in the last twenty four hours than he had in years. 

“Er, yeah. Keith.”

“It’s cool to finally have a new face around here, I’m getting sick of these old heads.” Matt grinned in Shiro and Allura’s direction. “Nah, I’m joking. We’re family around here. No other restaurant like it. I’m serious you’ll love it here, dude.” Keith doubted that, but nodded nonetheless, not wanting to appear ungrateful. Allura beckoned him to follow her to the kitchen where the tallest man he’d ever seen was placing cartoonishly large strips of bacon onto a crackling griddle. 

“This would be Kolivan, the head chef. He butchers all of the animals we get in as well. Don’t be intimidated, he’s a big softy.” Kolivan raised a spatula in acknowledgement, not for a second taking his attention from his work. “We nicknamed him the Blade of Marmora. He’s skilled with a knife, and he’s from Marmora, New Jersey. A deadly combination if you ask me.” 

“The other cooks will be in later for dinner service, that’s Hunk, Romelle, and Shay. Our kitchen staff is small compared to a lot of other restaurants, but what we lack in numbers we make up in talent.” Shiro added, pride welling in his eyes. It was obvious how much he loved this place. It worried Keith. It worried him that he’d be stepping into this special space that Shiro cherished so much. What if he ruined it for him? Did he even have a place here? It was a lot to take in, this magnificent building and all of these people that knew a totally different side of Shiro that he’d never seen. Enough to intimidate him, even question why he’d come in the first place. 

“When you come in to train Friday you’ll meet the rest of the staff. I don’t want to overwhelm you with information when you’re not on the clock, you really ought to be getting paid if you’re in the building.” Allura brightened, “You should definitely pop across the street for some coffee before you head home, though. We’ll be sending you for pre shift coffees once you officially start, so you may as well introduce yourself over there as well.”

“You okay heading back by yourself, kiddo? I really should stay here and catch up on some emails.” 

“Yeah yeah, manager stuff. I get it. I’ll be fine, Shiro.” The older man looked as if he didn’t believe him, but didn’t argue. He pat Keith on the shoulder and shot him an encouraging smile. 

\---

The coffee shop across the street was practically empty aside for a lady on an ipad in a chair that dwarfed her exponentially. She glared at him upon his entrance. The pleasant nutty aroma of ground coffee met him first, followed in suit by the stench of burnt milk, a horrible squelching sound, and a yelp from behind the bar. 

“Shit shit shit!” The barista hissed and turned off the steam wand, staring pathetically into the aluminum pitcher. He dumped the contents into the little drain next to the espresso machine and started again. 

“Ma’am, your oat milk latte is gonna be another sec, I messed up the mi- Oh!” The lanky brunet waved at him, “Hey, sorry didn’t see you there! Oat milk mishap. The stuff is so finicky. What can I get you?” Keith’s mouth was suddenly very dry, his tongue rough as sandpaper. 

“Uh… just a uh. A coffee. Please.” 

“Got you! That’ll be two bucks. I’ll have it for you in a sec,” He leaned in, stage whispering with his free hand, he muttered under his breath, _“That lady’s a regular and she’s super impatient. A real pain in the you know what.”_ Close up Keith couldn’t help but notice the smattering of freckles that peppered the boy’s brown cheeks, and the mole on his chin. He fished in his pocket for the ten he’d stuffed in there earlier. After correcting the woman’s drink, he placed Keith’s coffee on the counter along with his change. 

“Haven’t seen you around here before. Is this your first time here?”

“Yeah. I work across the street now. The Black Lion?” 

“No way! Why didn’t you say so? You wouldn’t have paid a dime for that coffee. The name’s Lance. Literally all of my friends work at The Black Lion.” Lance held out a hand for him to shake; Keith reluctantly obliged. 

“Yes way. Keith.”

“My best buddy Hunk is a cook there, and Allura is pretty much my number one crushtomer.”

“Crushtomer?”

“You know. _Crush customer!_ It’s wordplay, man. Keep up.” Lance snapped his fingers. It was annoying. “Anyway, I love that place. Can’t afford to eat there, but I love it. I staged in the kitchen once or twice but couldn’t really keep up. Coffee’s more up my alley. What are you doing there? Serving? Hosting? Or are you with the big man on the line?” Lance talked like words were short on supply and high in demand. Like he had to grab as many as he could before they all sold out. 

“Foodrunning, uh, my friend Shiro is the manager.” 

“That’s like, the best gig in the joint! You’re gonna love it.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” 

“That’s because it’s true. For real. You should really read the Yelp reviews on that place, it’s starting to make waves in the food scene around here. It’s cool to see.” 

Keith took a moment to sip his coffee and grimaced. He never took it black, but for some reason he felt trapped at the counter with Lance. Like if he stepped away to add milk and sugar he’d miss something. 

“So how do you know Shiro?” Lance rest his arms on the countertop. 

“It’s a long story, and you’re a stranger.” Keith snorted, “He’s an old friend.” 

“Ooh he’s so mysterious.” The other boy teased,“He drinks his coffee black and wears fingerless gloves.” 

Keith jut out his chin defensively, “Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?” Lance barked out a laugh in response and resumed cleaning up his station. His faded blue henley was powdered with ground espresso. He wiped his coffee dusted hands on the front of his jeans. 

“You’re a riot, mullet. We’re gonna have fun.” 

“So do you usually poke fun at new customers? Or is this just an isolated incident?” Keith cocked his head to the side, his long bangs sweeping into his eyes. 

“Nah, you’re just special. Plus, you seem like you can take it. You can totally dish it back to me, I’m like a punching bag, but a lot prettier.” There was some sincerity in Lance’s tone, which indicated to him that maybe being the butt of the joke was not uncommon for the barista. 

“I take it you’ve been working in customer service a little too long, then.” 

“You bet. Since I was sixteen, and I’m twenty two now. Plus, I deliver for Caviar as a side gig. That orange square backpack is basically a big ‘kick me’ sign.” Lance chuckled. 

“That’s rough.” He instantly felt guilty for only tipping the delivery boy two dollars on last night’s Chinese. 

The other boy shrugged, “Eh, you know what they say, no rest for the wicked. The actual courier part of the job is kinda nice anyway, I get to ride around for a few hours, blow off some steam.” At that he twisted the knob on the steam wand, releasing a gust of hot mist and grinned. 

Keith bit back a laugh, “I better head out” 

“Wait wait! I’ll see you around, right? Come back on your next workday, coffee on me.” 

“We’ll see.” 

“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that!” 

Keith grabbed his cup and made his way for the door. The pit of his stomach buzzing with something he didn’t recognize.  
\--  
After his meeting with Lance, the rest of the day slipped by, before he knew it darkness had distended over Philadelphia. Street lights flickered on as he stepped out for his evening cigarette. He cupped his hands around the flame from his lighter, shielding it from the wind. The city was a different kind of noisy at night. Less of an energized racket and more of a low hum, interrupted every so often by the sputtering engine of a car going by or a wailing siren. 

It was so different from the quiet of the desert. Nothing but the buzz of heavy heat and the sound of his boots crunching on sand and gravel. He ashed his cigarette and brought it to his lips. They were really starting to taste bad. At first, smoking had tasted like sweet tobacco, family, and rebellion. Now it just tasted like body odor and the past. He hated how dry and empty they made him feel, not to mention how often he had to do laundry to keep the smell at bay. Keith was pretty sure he reeked. He was used to being the smelly kid growing up, but now it just made him self conscious. Like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, give it a good scrub down, and hang it out to dry. 

Keith took to eating his dinner of mushroom pizza in his room, seeking some alone time alone to mull over what tomorrow had in store for him. Aside from needing some sort of income, the big move to the east coast had also been a part of his doctor’s elaborate plan to get Keith some ‘terribly needed support’. Tomorrow he was to attend a program for adults with mental illnesses, much to his displeasure. He had been having some trouble per se on his own in the desert. The depression had reached a point where solitary living was… inadvisable. Upon hearing this, Shiro had immediately offered Keith the spare room in his little South Philly apartment, and within a couple weeks he was here. Settled in with a job and four new therapists. 

\--

“So let’s start with introductions since we have some new faces in the group.” The blonde therapist, Karen turned to him, “Keith, how about you start us off? Name, age, maybe a little about what you’re struggling with right now? Oh! And a fun fact!” Keith scoffed, Karen was way too optimistic.

He crossed his arms and sunk into the uncomfortable tartan chair he resided in, “Uh Keith. Twenty-one. I guess I have depression?” He phrased it like a question and shrugged, “I get mad a lot.” The therapist nodded and wrote something down, her enthusiastic expression wavered. She must have been hoping for a little more from him. Thankfully, someone relieved him of the spotlight. 

A slight, bespectacled young adult piped up from beside him,“I’m Pidge. I’m nineteen, and I’m struggling with anxiety. Oh and uh, my pronouns are she, her.” Pidge paused, smiling sheepishly, “I guess my fun fact is… uh… I’m good at computers?” Something told Keith that she was selling herself short.

Following Pidge was a fifty-two year old named Daniel with OCD and a love of park chess, a twenty year old clown school dropout named Dana struggling with anxiety and self image, and Julie who was twenty-eight, had depression, as well as three cats all named after stone fruits.

“Now that we’re all acquainted let’s go over some group rules. No graphic details in regards to suicidal ideation, no specifics when it comes to behaviors, especially self destructive ones, no politics, and no interrupting. Be respectful! We are all here to learn from each other, even the therapists!” Karen beamed at them. Her boundless positivity was unnerving, it felt out of place and honestly, kind of inappropriate. 

It was actually pretty easy to avoid participating during group. All he had to do was listen to what everyone else had to say and occasionally shake his head in agreement. Pidge seemed to have adopted a similar mentality, he felt a certain kinship with her, finding her presence beside him oddly comforting. It was nice not being the only one put off by the prospect of spilling your guts out for everyone to see, sort through, and get on their hands. 

During the short break they had before art therapy, Keith stepped out for a quick smoke, and Pidge followed him. He’d been buying the same cigarettes since he was thirteen, the same brand his dad used to smoke. The twiggy teen pulled out a small black rectangle from her pocket. Keith snorted. 

“Vape?” 

“Shut up, my lungs are thanking me.” She took a drag and a cloud of vapor pooled out of her nose. 

“I’d like to quit I think.” 

“That’s a hard thing to do.”

“Yeah…” 

Pidge pat his sweater clad arm. 

“So... Karen.” She began, glancing up at him, her face alight with mirth. Keith rolled his eyes theatrically, Pidge sniggered.

He was glad to have her with him in the group.

\--

Keith was certain that his feet had conspired against him and taken him to Kaltenecker Coffee without consulting with his brain, if that were even possible. He could see Lance through the window, all broad shouldered and long limbed. He swayed jerkily to whatever was playing as he slid the brew basket into its compartment on the Bunn machine. Keith’s heart drummed wildly in his chest. Lance was bobbing his head now to the beat of something synthy and alternative. It was annoying… and charming.

_Sometimes I find myself thinking of you… Then I feel stupid but what can I do…_

“Hey, you came back!”

Keith, ruddy cheeked from the cold, brought a hand to his hair to flatten it from the wind’s assault. 

“Yeah, but only for that free coffee you promised.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Lance considered him, and laughed. Why was everything so funny to him? 

“Hm, can’t argue with that! Whaddya want? On me.” 

“Just a coffee.” 

“What, nothing special? This is your chance to go crazy! How ‘bout a cortado? That’s my favorite.” Keith had no idea what he was talking about. “You know what, I’m just gonna make it for you, and if you don’t like it you’ll get your boring black coffee, kay?” 

“Okay.” 

The other boy raised an eyebrow at him, then shook his head. He ducked behind the sunflower yellow espresso machine and within minutes presented him with a short beverage in a glass, complete with a feathery heart made of milk. 

“It’s like, a cappuccino’s little brother.” 

Keith took a sip. 

“It’s good!” 

“I know, right?” He smirked and puffed his chest proudly, “This was all a ruse to get you hooked on a more expensive drink. I’m gonna make bank off of you.” 

“I should have known. Never trust the word ‘free’. Capitalist America at work, preying on the vulnerable.” Lance seemed to find that funny as well, he giggled. He had dimples. Keith’s stomach tightened. 

“Working today?” 

“Oh, no I’m not. I was just in the area. I start Friday.” The bell above the door sang and a gaggle of teens wearing school uniforms piled in. 

“I should probably handle this.” 

“I’ll just, uh, I’ll get out of your hair.” Keith gathered his drink and found himself a nook, occupied by a tiffany lamp that cast an array of reds and blues onto the wood of the table. He watched on as Lance rolled up his sleeves and animatedly took orders of hot chocolate after hot chocolate. The sudden rush hadn’t phased him in the slightest, truthfully it appeared as though that’s where he thrived. In the thick of it. 

After about fifteen minutes, the sea of highschoolers had parted and freed Lance from his station behind the coffee bar. He joined Keith at his table, swiveling the chair around so he could rest his arms on the back of it. 

“Let’s play twenty questions.” 

“Let’s not.” 

“Okay, I’ll go first. What are you listening to right now?” Lance pushed forward anyway, eager to learn more about Keith. He sighed.

“Um. I don’t really know any new stuff. I like Phil Collins?” 

Lance guffawed. 

“That is SO not what I was expecting, dude! You’re a wild card. Never would have pinned you as a Phil fan. No judgement, dude’s great.” 

“What about you? What do you listen to? 24 straight hours of honking clown horns?” Lance was cheesing in every sense of the word. 

“Well the Philly punk music scene is pretty big. My friends book warehouse gigs, so I get a lot of my music from that. But... honestly what I really like listening to is the stuff I grew up with. Celia Cruz, Selena, and of course ABBA. My mom loves ABBA.” 

“And you called me a wild card.”

“Hey that reminds me, there’s a show coming up next Wednesday. The lineup is pretty good and you’d be doing my pals a huge favor if you showed up! Plus, you’ll get to hang out with me more, which I know you’re probably dying to do.” His tone was sarcastic, but his eyes were wide and hopeful. Keith suddenly felt lightheaded.

“I’ll have to see when I’m scheduled. Can I get back to you?” 

“For sure! Here let me-” Lance shot out of his seat and scrambled behind the counter, returning with a sharpie in hand. He uncapped it with his teeth, grabbed the coffee stained napkin from under Keith’s cortado, and scribbled his number along with his full name. “Shoot me a text, or add me on Facebook. I can invite you to the event on there.” 

A feeling that filled Keith could only be compared to the sensation of when your arm falls asleep and vibrates with numbness. It crept from his toes to his scalp.

“You just go around giving strangers your number?” 

“Puh-lease, I know where you work, Mom. Plus you’re like, hardly a stranger. Nobody that listens to my guy Phil Collins is a stranger.” Keith huffed out a laugh. 

_“I wanna know about these strangers like me.”_

Lance gawked at him.

“Gotta go. I’ll text you.” Keith was out the door before Lance could get out another word, which was a feat in itself. He took a moment to glance at the napkin in his hand, giddiness bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill onto his tongue and out his mouth in the form of laughter, or song, or something along those lines. He hadn’t made a friend in a long time. That must be why he was so excited. He hadn’t made plans to hang out with a friend in equally as long. Keith balled the note in his fist and stuffed it in his pocket, hoping his swirling emotions would be tucked away with it. 

No luck.  
\-- 

Friday came fast, as did a steady flow of thunderstorms rolling off the coast and onto the tri-state area. Keith slipped out of his Uber and into the Black Lion. The rain was blinding and coming down in long sheets. He shook himself out at the door, certain he resembled a drowned rat, and hobbled into the server station.

“That bad, huh?” Shiro grabbed a bar mop and tossed it to Keith. “Reservations have dropped, the total count is somewhere around 20 now, which means it’ll be a slow night for training.” For which Keith was eternally grateful. He hadn’t gotten proper sleep since his arrival in the city. He was death on legs. 

Allura joined them, mug of tea in hand. 

“Menu meeting is about to begin, Hunk is leading it this time. Oh, and family meal is up!” 

“Family meal?” 

“Every shift the kitchen makes dinner for everyone before service begins.” Shiro smiled and pulled him into the kitchen. He handed him a plate and started piling what appeared to be a green goo onto his own. 

“It’s an herby risotto with patty pan squash bits, sunchokes, uh, and some other veggies we had on hand. Just leftovers from the week, your average staff grool.” A heavyset young man with dark hair and eyes the color of sweet tea explained. Although to Keith, grool that it be, there was nothing average about it. 

“Huh. What’s a sunchoke?” 

“I could go into its origins but they’re a root veggie, like potatoes. They taste kinda sweet. They’re really common in a lot of Native cuisine.” The young man paused and lifted the orange paisley bandana on his forehead, wiping at the slick line of sweat on his brow. “Hey you’re the new kid right? Keith? I’m Hunk. I’m basically the unofficial sous chef, you’ll usually find me on either veg or protein.” 

“Oh cool, I’ll be foodrunning.”

“Awesome! We’ll get to know each other real well. You’re basically the connection between the front of house and the back of house. Like our messenger pigeon.” 

“Uh, sure?” 

“Ha! Lance mentioned you were a little slow on the uptake. Or maybe we just have shitty senses of humor…” Keith wasn’t sure whether he should be insulted, or simply agree that yes, maybe he and Lance _did_ have shitty senses of humor. Hunk sighed, “Well I’ll meet you in the dining room to talk menu, gotta finish up a couple things first but I’ll be there in a sec.” 

The menu was full of words Keith had never heard before. Gazpacho, caponata, soubise, barigoule. The way Hunk described what was in each dish, scientifically and with fervor, intimidated and impressed Keith. Something about the way he rambled reminded him of Lance, though he’d only met him twice, it was not a surprise that they were friends. 

“Any questions?” 

“Can the gazpacho be done without nuts?” A blonde server he didn’t recognize asked, looking up from her menu.

“Nah, hazelnuts are blended in it. It also can’t be done dairy free, there’s like… a shit ton of butter in there.” The girl jotted down notes as Hunk answered her question. 

After meeting, service truly began. Foodrunning hadn’t come as naturally to Keith as everyone had insisted it would, but the shift hadn’t been a total disaster. Sure he’d jumped the gun a few times on bringing out entrees before a table was ready, but other than that he was quick, capable, and strong. Maybe not strong enough to carry four plates at once like Shiro could, but he’d get there. They closed the restaurant early that night, due to ‘inclement weather’, but really because every remaining reservation had canceled. 

“Wine?” Keith looked up to Matt waving a mug in his face. “Table 27 left like practically a whole bottle of Malbec behind.” He poured some out for Keith into the coffee cup and placed it next to his polishing station. 

“Polishing always goes faster if you have a little medicine to get you through it.” Matt grinned, taking a sip from his own mug of wine. 

“That doesn’t sound right…” 

“Whatever, maybe not faster but a little less agonizing.” Matt huffed, “Can we switch? I hate polishing wine glasses.” He wiggled his fingers, which were decked out in an assortment of different rings. Matt certainly had a very specific fashion sense. Specific to what, Keith was unsure. 

“Yeah, sure thing.” 

After about ten minutes of silent polishing and wine consumption, Matt looked up from the silverware in his hand and turned to Keith again.

“You know, we’re really glad you’re here. All of us are. I know starting somewhere new can be weird because everyone knows each other already but… Shiro loves you so you’re family now. We have each other’s backs here. Food service can be brutal if you can’t lean on the people you work with.” 

Keith froze. Never in his life had anyone said anything like that to him beside Shiro. Sure, he’d had his fair share of “families”, all overcrowded, all overwhelming, none with enough room for him. Now not only had a space been made for him in Shiro’s home, but one was being carved out here, whether he accepted it or not. It felt like his heart was folding in on itself inside his ribs, twisting into origami shapes. He inhaled sharply, realizing he hadn’t breathed in about a minute. His nails dug into his palm, indenting crescent moons into his flesh. 

“I’m not good at this stuff. I’m not good at being a part of...” Keith gesticulated at Matt and then around him, “But I- uh, I want to try.” 

“That’s the spirit! Okay, now that I said that, your wine glasses look awful, your polishing rag is too wet.” 

Keith dropped the rag and laughed.


	2. Sussudio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this came so late! Lots happened in my life, I went back to therapy, quit my second job, moved, etc etc. I tried to edit this as much as possible but if you notice anything awkward or any mistakes let me know! Some very vague violence in this chapter, short fight scene nothing crazy. Once again smoking tw. Love ya'll!

Kaltenecker Coffee runs were becoming a part of Keith’s daily routine. A month ago he would never had imagined himself a regular anywhere, let alone a quaint cafe in the middle of Philadelphia’s famous Rittenhouse Square. Every visit was the same, he’d enter with the intention of finding a quiet spot to read, and find himself glued to the counter. He and Lance chatted about anything and everything. Lance would talk about music or about fixing up his trusty old blue bike, Keith would talk about a sci fi Hulu original or a book he was reading. They’d talk their mouths dry, they’d argue their faces blue, they’d people watch. Sometimes they’d just stand there in silence while Keith scrolled through the paranormal forum on Reddit while Lance doodled grotesque cartoons of the two of them on frequent customer punch cards. These moments came so naturally but felt so precious. Each one felt like a unique rock nestled in a child’s pocket to later add to their collection. 

Group therapy was actually tolerable now that he had coffee with Lance to look forward to. Even Karen, who had been assigned as his individual therapist had taken notice. 

“You seem so much more adjusted, Keith!” Karen grinned. He drew into himself, embarrassed by the attention, or rather her enthusiasm.  
“I guess.”  
“I’ve also noticed you opening up more in group.”  
“I haven’t said anything.”  
“Well no,” Karen wavered, “But you haven’t walked out once this week.” Keith had been dubbed a ‘flight risk’ by the therapists. Whether his temper got out of hand, or he simply was fed up with a conversation, he’d up and leave. This landed him a three strike warning, of which he was already at out two.  
“I don’t really have a choice.” Keith caught her gaze. Unreadable. Anger itched at his insides.  
“That hasn’t mattered much before now… has it? Tell me, Keith. Do you want to get better? You can answer honestly. I won’t be offended.”  
No one had ever asked him that before. He considered the question, examining every angle of it for traps.  
“Not really. Sometimes I think I do, but I never feel like I do.”  
“Sometimes you think you do.” Karen repeated, “For yourself or for other people?” Panic ballooned in his chest, he thought of Shiro, he thought of his Pop. He scanned the room for an exit, a change in subject, anything.  
“You don’t have to answer that. Just think about it.” She paused, her face and body language softening. “I’m proud of you. I know you don’t trust me, or trust this fully yet, but that’s okay. It’s a process and nobody, especially myself, expects you to be fully comfortable with all of this right now.” Keith mirrored her, shoulders relaxing.  
“Okay.” 

When program finally ended, he and his fellow group members stepped out into an uncharacteristically sunny day. Keith shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around his waist. 

“Wanna chill for a bit?” Pidge turned to him, pulling her comically large vape from her sweatshirt pocket.  
“Really?”  
“Yes really, idiot.”  
“Uh.. sure.” Keith could think of a million other people Pidge would be better off spending her afternoon with.  
“Cool. Let’s get coffee, Mandy reamed me today in individual and I need caffeine.” Keith could empathize with that feeling, Karen had definitely worn him out. He was reluctant to share his after therapy ritual with someone other than a friendly barista, but for his new friend Pidge, he’d have to make an exception. Pidge had become quite the confidante of his in group, not that there was anything wrong with the others. He just enjoyed her cynicism and dry sarcasm as much as she enjoyed his attitude. They were certainly kindred spirits, and he was grateful to have her around, even if she more than often called him on his shit.  
Once inside the cafe, the familiar poppy beat of Sussudio by none other than Phil Collins himself greeted him. Lance hadn’t noticed them yet, he was mopping up an impressive spill and wagging a finger to the music. His baby pink t-shirt was slightly too small and exposed a strip of tan skin comparable to the width of a papercut, sending a jolt of electricity through Keith’s body. It was practically indecent.  
“Lance!” Pidge exclaimed from beside him, startling both Keith and the brunet from their respective trances.  
“Pigeon! What brings you to my neck of the woods!”  
“Last time I checked this isn’t the circus.”  
Lance squaked, feigning offense, and smacked her playfully on the arm. He loomed nearly a whole head over her, their height difference exaggerated when he finally drew her in for a hug. With his task finished, Lance excused himself briefly to put away his cleaning supplies and returned to his station behind the counter.  
“What are you doing hanging around with one of the Lost Boys? He hasn’t forced you to drink any coppery tasting wine lately, has he?”  
“Nobody gets your stupid 80’s movie references, dummy.”  
“Says you, aren’t you like twelve? You wouldn’t understand.” He turned to Keith, “Right, Mullet?”  
Keith nodded dumbly. The Lost Boys, he mused silently, Shiro loves that movie.  
A line had begun to form behind them and Lance shooed them away.  
“I’ll bring you guys something in a sec, I must please the people. They need me.” Keith rolled his eyes.  
“We’ll be over there, come over when you can.” Lance gave her a thumbs up and a quick flash of the teeth, very Johnny Bravo.  
Keith followed Pidge to a small table by the window, honey orange light filled the cafe. Golden hour. Ten minutes or so lapsed, and Lance reappeared with a regular coffee for Keith and what looked like a matcha latte for Pidge. He pulled up a chair, twisting it around to drape himself across the back of it.  
“You guys coming to the gig tomorrow? My sister’s band is filling in for that Boston synth group that dropped out last minute. Apparently they all got food poisoning at a Golden Corral? Anyway, are you in or are you in?”  
“No way! I’ll be there. I think Matt will probably to come too. He just got one of those dangly earrings and he’s trying to show it off.”  
Lance laughed, “I don’t blame him. What about you? Can you still come?”  
Keith felt like a Betty Spaghetti doll, all floppy limbed.  
“I need to ask Shiro but um… yeah probably. I mean I want to.” He grabbed his phone from his pocket to send the text, receiving a response within seconds containing only a series of thumbs up and purple heart emojis.  
“So?”  
“Yeah it’s okay. I can go.” A smile tugged at his lips.  
“Nice! It’s gonna be such a good show, I promise.”  
The sun hit Lance’s face like it was coming home, he didn’t know it was possible for his eyes to get bluer, but alas they did. 

\--

Turns out West Philly warehouse literally meant supply warehouse. Shiro had insisted on driving him to the show, and as they rolled into the parking lot he glanced nervously to the passenger side at Keith.  
“Are you sure this is it? All I see are loading trucks.”  
Keith went back to the address Lance had sent him, and then to the little red pinpoint on Google maps indicating that they were, in fact, in the right location.  
“This is it.”  
“Well… if you’re sure. Will you text when you meet up with your friends?”  
Keith nodded.  
“Will you call when you need a ride home? I’ll come pick you up, doesn’t matter what time.”  
Keith hesitated, then nodded again.  
“Will you give me a hug before you get out of the car?”  
Keith gave him a look, softly punched him on the arm, and hopped out of the car.  
“Bye, Shiro.”  
And with one final “Text me!” Shiro waved and backed out of the parking lot. 

“Keith!” Lance hobbled over, one arm wrapped around an amp, the other hugging a black rectangular guitar case. On his back was a bulky messenger bag buckled across his chest like a seatbelt.  
“Shit, do you need a hand?”  
“Nah nah don’t worry about it, if you take one thing it’ll throw off my balance.” Lance shot him a toothy smile, “Also I look real buff.” He flexed an arm, nearly dropping the amp in the process.  
Keith snorted, “If you say so.”

The hike up to the third floor warehouse space was nothing short of treacherous, and by the top of the second flight of stairs Lance was drenched in sweat and red in the face. 

“Let me at least grab the amp, Lance. Don’t be a hero.”  
Lance huffed, a wheezy laugh shook out of him.  
“You’re right, nobody likes a hero.”  
Keith gently took the bulky box from under his arm, biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying ‘I told you so’ upon hearing Lance’s audible sigh of relief.  
They finally made it to the show space, joining a group of about five others to set up. There was a cooler filled with Pabst Blue Ribbon pounders and and Deer Park water bottles, wires slithered across the floor and climbed up two giant speakers like kudzu. A tall young woman with a fluffy brunette ponytail and silver hoops the size of Christmas ornaments was building the mic stand and humming to herself.  
“You asshole, you left me with the heaviest stuff to bring up!”  
She looked up and rolled her eyes.  
“You offered, dumbass. Maybe next time take two trips.” Her gaze flickered to Keith.  
“Hey, I don’t know you, are you with another band?”  
“Uh no, just a friend of Lance’s.” He winced, was it okay that he’d referred to Lance as his friend? Had he made too quick of an assumption? Were they even friends?  
Lance dropped the guitar case with as much care as he could summon and wrapped an arm around Keith’s shoulders.  
“See! I told you I have friends! Not just Hunk anymore I’m branching out.”  
The young woman extended a hand, fingers decorated with a variety of stacked rings.  
“I’m Rachel, Lance’s sister.” He shook her hand.  
“Keith.”  
“Cool. Listen, I gotta get back to setting up but we can catch up after the show yeah?” Keith looked between her and Lance and nodded.  
“Sweet.” 

Lance wheeled him around towards the exit, his boundless energy back in full force. “The show won’t start for another hour or so, wanna see the roof?”  
“Oh, sure.” If the show wasn’t going to begin for an hour why had he told him to come at seven? Did he tell Pidge the same time? Was she just late? Lance swiped a couple of beers, shoving them in his denim jacket pockets, and nudged Keith out the door. 

“Technically we’re not allowed up here but there’s a blind spot on the security cameras on this staircase, so I go up anyway.” He pressed a long finger to his lips, “Don’t tell anyone though.”  
Keith mimed zipping his lips.  
“You didn’t throw away the key.”  
He threw the invisible key.

They pushed through a heavy metal door, and Lance made sure to prop it open with a loose brick. He opened one of the beers with a hiss, foam bubbling from the mouth of the can, and handed it to Keith. Lance’s bare calloused knuckles brushed his gloved ones and he wished that he’d forgotten to wear them. They sat on the floor against the ledge silently sipping.

“Are you cold?” 

“Not really.”

Lance scooted closer anyway, their crossed knees knocking.

Keith pulled out a cigarette and Lance watched him light it. Keith silently offered him one but he shook his head.

“Nah, quit last year.” Normally Keith would feel guilty but Lance’s voice didn’t hold any malice. They shared a smile.

It was nice. Just sitting with the quiet, no talking just the wind. Lance grabbed his attention, something unrecognizable behind his eyes.  
“I’m freezing, tell me about the desert.”  
“We can just go inside.”  
“No I don’t want to yet.”  
“What’s talking about it gonna do?”  
“Stop thinking so much and tell me about the sun, idiot.” He shuffled even closer, “How hot did it get?”  
“The hottest day was probably 110. I was probably like around ten. My pop and I had chickens but it was so hot we had to bring them inside so they wouldn’t like pass out.”  
“So you just hung out with chickens inside?” He giggled.  
“Yeah, and we had this old kiddie pool from when I was a baby. Pop filled it up with sink water and some ice cubes and we sat in it for hours eating popsicles. We didn’t have AC so we had to get creative.”  
“It got hot like that in Cuba sometimes. We’d go swimming in the ocean and when it got dark we’d go home and roast marshmallows on the grill.”  
“I miss the heat sometimes. Like when you’re driving and it’s so hot that the road in front of you looks like it’s underwater.”  
“I like when it’s so hot you can feel it on your back and in your hair.” Lance looked up, like he was expecting the summer sun to suddenly reappear in the sky and beat down on him.  
“You can’t feel your hair, it’s dead.”  
“You know what I mean, jerk.”  
“Yeah, I do.”  
Lance downed the rest of his beer.  
“Look what I can do.” He crushed it over his head flattening it into a puck.  
“Always knew you were thick headed.” Lance stood up and chucked it at Keith’s head cackling.  
“Asshole. C’mon, Pidge is probably here by now. She said Hunk’s coming too with more beer.” 

Hunk, with a case of Miller High Life in tow, greeted them at the bottom of the stairs with Matt and Pidge close behind. A glint of light reflected off the little silver earring swinging from Matt’s earlobe. 

“Ah, the champagne of beer! What’s the special occasion?” Lance swiped a bottle, twisting off the top. Hunk one arm hugged him, ruffling his hair in the process.  
“I’m just happy we’re all hanging out together. I missed you guys.”  
Lance beamed, dimples like canyons in his cheeks.  
“I missed you too buddy!”  
Pidge pretended to gag, “Ew, get a room.”  
“Jealousy’s an ugly emotion, Pigeon.”  
\--  
By the time the music had started the five of them were properly buzzed. Lance had circled his arms around Hunk’s waist. He rest his head on Hunk’s back and sleepily swayed to music that wasn’t slow dance music by any means. Hunk was laughing and playing along, it was clear how comfortable they were with each other. Watching them had Keith wondering what it would feel like to have Lance draped on him like that, the thought made him shiver.

He bobbed his head to the heavy, room shuddering bass. Rachel’s voice was deep and gravelly, hitting low notes that Keith wasn’t sure he was capable of. Sweat collected on her brow, plastering her bangs to her forehead, the seriousness on her face a stark contrast to her brother’s giddiness. 

With a shove Keith was pushed forward into Pidge, causing her to stumble. He whipped around, only to get elbowed in the gut by the same perpetrator swinging his body around with no regard for the people around him.  
“Do you mind?!”  
“Bro, chill! ‘M just dancing, man.” The boy threw his hands up defensively. He looked like a real asshole, wearing an t-shirt covered with holes that looked very intentional, rather from wear. Keith huffed and crossed his arms, twisting back around. He could feel his ears growing hot.  
Another whack, this time to the back of his head.  
“Seriously?!”  
“Chill out, man!”  
“You chill out!”  
“Yo, Keith relax. He’s just some jackass leave it.” Pidge put a hand on his shoulder, but by this point he was seething. Lance and Hunk had disconnected from each other and turned around, concern written across their faces.  
“Whoa, Keith take it easy.” Lance stepped forward, placing a gentle but firm palm to his chest.  
The boy that had hit him laughed, “Yeah, man. Relax!”  
Keith didn’t even remember punching him. He had turned around to join his friends again when another arm flew out and thwacked Pidge’s glasses off and into the mass of sweaty bodies. The crunch of glass was almost muffled by the band but the second Keith had heard it his vision went completely red with fury. He blinked and suddenly he was being pulled off of the other boy, blood spilling out of his nose and from a now fat lip. Hunk’s strong but comforting arms looped around him and hoisted Keith away like he weighed nothing. He squirmed, trying to slip out of Hunk’s stronghold to get at the boy, but he had already scrambled away.  
“Fuck you, man! Fucking psycho!” 

He let himself be dragged outside, the frigid air hitting worse than the actual fist that had been in his face mere minutes before. Lance pulled some Chipotle napkins out of his backpack, wetting them with the remainder of his water bottle and wiped the blood from his chin and his nose. Keith refused to look at him, keeping his eyes focused on the sky. This was also the best way to keep from crying too. His jaw wobbled under Lance’s touch and he bit his tongue to hold in an embarrassed sob.

“You’re fine. You’re okay. That guy totally deserved it.”  
Keith didn’t say anything.  
“I’m calling Shiro. Can I take your phone out of your pocket?”  
Keith nodded, he felt pathetic. It was like he was fourteen again, sitting on his foster parent’s couch.  
Lance managed to fish out Keith’s phone, he didn’t have a passcode so he easily found Shiro in his contacts. The screen was a web of glass, it must have cracked during his fight.  
“Hey Shiro it’s Lance.” A pause, “Yeah, he’s okay. You should probably come get him though.” Another pause, “Yeah he’s with us. He’s just a little scuffed up, nothing serious though. Yeah. Okay. Seeya soon.”  
“You don’t have to wait with me. You can go back.”  
“You’re an idiot if you think I’m just gonna leave you here.” He sidled in next to Keith, handing him back his phone. “You gonna be okay?”  
“I’ve had worse… sorry about ruining your sister’s show.”  
“Are you kidding? A fight breaks out pretty much every show she does. Don’t worry about it.” He grinned, “You have a pretty nasty left hook, though. That was pretty sick.”  
“You know what they say, don’t mess with Texas.”  
Lance snorted.  
Shiro’s car pulled into the parking lot, pebbles and broken beer bottles crunching under his tires. He jumped out of the car, jogging over to where Keith and Lance were sitting on the curb. He bent down, holding Keith’s face in his hands to examine the fight’s handiwork.  
“Oh, Keith.”  
“Sorry.”  
“We’ll talk about it at home.” Shiro helped him up, then turned to Lance. “Thanks for calling me, Lance. I really appreciate it.”  
“No sweat, man.” 

The car ride home was altogether silent aside from the trill of the radio set to station 104.5 and Shiro’s anxious tapping on the steering wheel. Keith had curled himself into the corner of the passenger seat, staring at his reflection in the window and facing away from Shiro. 

“Are you mad?”  
“No, I’m not mad.”  
“You’re disappointed.”  
Shiro gave him a look.  
“What happened?”  
He looked at his hands, picking at the dried blood and dirt under his fingernails.  
“I don’t really know. This guy kept like bumping into me and my friends, he broke Pidge’s glasses and I guess I just… I dunno, lost control.”  
“You’re not the Hulk, Keith. You have more control than you think.”  
Keith sighed heavily, pressing his cheek to the cold window.  
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re perfect. You’re all Patience Yields Focus but when have you ever not been patient?”  
Shiro pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park.  
“I’m almost a decade older than you, and you know that’s not true. I’m not asking you to be perfect, I’m asking you to take a second before you act and just breathe.” He placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder, giving it a small affectionate squeeze. “I know fighting was a way you survived for a long time, but you don’t have to just survive anymore you get to live. You can’t solve everything with your fists.”  
Keith clenched his hand, then unclenched. The annoyance he previously felt dissolving into a pool of shame.  
“Why are you always right?”  
Shiro held up his prosthetic arm and chuckled, “Because I have no left.”  
Keith groaned, “Dad jokes? Really? Right now?” Shiro put his arm around the back of Keith’s car seat like he always did and grinned.  
“It’s never a bad time for dad jokes.”

They spent the rest of the night watching Golden Girls re-runs that Shiro had actually recorded on his TiVo, proving to Keith that he really was an old man living in a 28 year old’s body. Shiro had made sleepy time tea and set a mug in front of Keith. 

“Adam’s coming over, is that okay?” He asked, settling into the couch next to Keith.  
“Yeah, I don’t care. Is he gonna yell at me?”  
Shiro laughed, “Once he sees that lip of yours, definitely.” He and Adam had been dating for a few years at this point, and he’d fit easily into their weird little family. Where Shiro was a bit of a pushover, Adam picked up the slack. Adam let himself in carrying a first aid kit and wearing a disappointed scowl.  
“You are so reckless I swear to god, you’re going to give me a heart attack. You’re going to give me a heart attack and leave Takashi a widowed, shell of a man.” He crowded Keith, pulling out antiseptic spray for the little cuts on his face. Shiro stifled a laugh.  
“Hi, Adam.” Keith sighed.  
“Oh, don’t you dare hi me like you’re not in serious trouble, miste- ooh Golden Girls.” He squeezed in between the two of them, giving his boyfriend a quick peck on the cheek.  
“Adam, babe, Keith is very apologetic about what happened tonight and I’m sure it won’t happen again.” Shiro looked at Keith pointedly.  
“Yeah, It won’t happen again.”  
“It better not.”  
“The both of you are giving me gray hairs at thirty years old.”  
“Join the club, babe.”  
Adam leaned into Shiro, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.  
“If I didn’t love you both, I think I’d hate you.” He huffed, stealing Keith’s mug of tea to take a sip.  
“That’s what family’s all about.”  
Keith bit the inside of his cheek and pulled his knees into his chest. There were so many layers of emotion fighting for dominance inside of him. He felt so much love for the two people on the couch with him, but a lot of guilt as well. Like, they didn’t really know who he was or what it meant to love him. He felt undeserving and grateful at the same time. Family had always been something he had to earn, so why were they just giving it to him like this? Where was the catch? Where were the conditions?  
“Earth to Keith.” Adam waved a hand in front of his face, welcoming him back to the present.  
He blinked, refocusing his eyes.  
“Uh, sorry.”  
“Don’t be sorry.” Adam wrapped an arm around him, an invitation into the embrace he was sharing with Shiro and turned the volume up as Blanche walked into the scene. “God, she’s an icon.”


End file.
